


Trust Me

by Ebhenah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autumn, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Impromptu Date Night, Living Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing Clothes, Shiro (Voltron) Can't Cook, Smitten Shiro (Voltron), Supportive Lance (Voltron), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but he tries, jewelry mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: Shiro has never had much luck in the kitchen. He's bound and determined to get it right this time, though.
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was so excited to find out that I'd been assigned the always lovely and wonderfully talented [Seki](https://twitter.com/rustdustshuffle) as my giftee for the Shance Fall Exchange event put on by the Shance Support Squad.
> 
> I want to say thanks to [Luna](https://linktr.ee/imaginationcubed), [Hexworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexworthy/pseuds/Hexworthy), and [Punk](https://twitter.com/PunkInGlitter) for helping me make sure the fic was up to snuff.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, Seki!

One more time. 

He would watch the video _one more time_ and then he’d start. Nerves rattled through him, but he took a steadying breath. He’d faced down much scarier things than this. He liked to think he was smarter than average and this was supposedly a very basic task. It wasn’t impossible. He could _learn_ this.

Closing his eyes for a second, Shiro tapped the replay button on the screen and hunkered down to watch it again. The woman on the screen smiled brightly and waved at the camera.

“Hey y’all! Today we’re gonna be making my family’s favorite: no-fail garlic knots!” She gestured to the counter, which was set up _exactly_ the same way his own was… because he’d paused the video at precisely this point on his fifth re-watch to take the time to make sure it was perfect. There was no way he wanted to risk screwing up because he had switched ingredients by accident.

This was Lance’s _favorite food_. Shiro wanted to be able to treat him to it sometimes without getting delivery.

“The secret to making this recipe no-fail is using pre-made pizza dough! You can buy this at most grocery stores, or sometimes even from your favorite pizza place!”

Shiro had cheated a little bit here- he’d gotten Hunk to make the dough. Hunk grumbled about grocery store pizza dough enough times that Shiro was pretty confident it wouldn’t measure up to Lance’s standards for garlic knots.

Hunk had been excited to help and now a tea towel covered a bowl full of beautifully risen dough on the counter. Hunk had _promised_ that the hard part was the dough and that everything else was ‘mostly just assembly and setting timers’.

Shiro had been a good student.

He could do this.

* * *

Lance returned home from his evening swim to an apartment full of smoke, a tray of blackened lumps, and a sheepish Shiro trying to fan the stench of burnt garlic and scorched butter out of the open window.

“What happened here?” he asked, bewildered. “Were you trying to _bake?”_

“The nice southern lady said it was no-fail!” cried Shiro, gesturing wildly. “She lied, Lance! _She lied!”_

“Babe,” Lance glanced around, half expecting to see a disaster zone in the kitchen. But no, everything looked perfect except for the charred remains of whatever Shiro had been trying to make—scones, maybe? Dinner rolls?—and the smoke that hung in the air. “What nice southern lady?”

“The one on the video!” Sighing, Shiro set down the book he was using as a fan and pushed his metal hand through his hair with a defeated look. “I was trying to make garlic knots,” he said in a sad voice, “it started out so well… and then… I don’t even know what went wrong...”

“Garlic knots?” Lance’s expression melted into something decidedly sappy and he closed the distance between them to hug his boyfriend, leaning up to kiss him softly. He didn’t pull back until he could feel Shiro smiling against his lips. “You are the sweetest man, I swear. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro answered on a sigh, “I don’t understand what trips me up with cooking. I really thought I had it this time.”

“Tell you what. Let’s open all the windows to let this place air out for a bit, and go get something to eat. Then on the way back, we can stop by the store and pick up some supplies and I’ll teach you how to make something. One on one.”

“You’re going to teach me how to make garlic knots?”

Lance crinkled his nose, shaking his head, “uhhh... no. I think a fresh start would be better. How about… ummm… Oh! I know! That corn chowder with bacon and chilies that you love!”

“Yeah… alright,” Shiro relaxed against him, “I like that plan.”

* * *

Dinner was lovely. It shouldn’t surprise him how much fun he had with Lance when they went out, not after this long together, but somehow it always did. As much as he loved their cozy nights in, there was something about going out that made Lance just… _sparkle_.

They talked about all the same stuff they would at home, but there was a light in Lance’s eyes, a quickness to his smile that only seemed to surface when they were on ‘a real date’. He played up his flirting, getting animated as he told stories, tangling their feet together under the table, and generally being cute and charming.

By the time dessert arrived, Shiro had almost forgotten about the burnt garlic knots. After a shared slice of cheesecake and a couple of irish coffees, it was pretty much the furthest thing from his mind. So, he was momentarily confused when, on their walk home, Lance tugged him into the market.

“I know I said I’d teach you how to make the corn chowder,” Lance said easily, “but that’s a lot of chopping and standing over the stove. How do you feel about Dump Cake instead?”

“How do I feel about _what_ now?” he asked, gaping at his boyfriend. Surely he’d misheard that!

“Dump cake,” Lance repeated, laughing. “Sounds bad, but it just means you dump the ingredients right in the cake pan and don’t mess with it. It’s not exactly _from scratch_ , but it is great for building confidence!”

“As long as you don’t claim it is ‘no-fail’ I think I’m okay with pretty much anything.”

“Babe,” Lance said, expression serious despite the mischief glinting in his eyes, “I know better than to say that about you and baking.”

“Ass,” he muttered through his smile.

  
  
“I got one,” sing-songed Lance, dragging him through the market, “but I’m not one!”

As it turned out, ‘Dump Cake’ didn’t involve much work at all. Lance grabbed a couple of cans of pie filling, a tub of frozen ‘whipped topping’, a box of cake mix, and some chocolate chips then declared them done.

A chill had settled into the air while they’d been out and Lance’s hoodie wasn’t doing much to keep him warm. This was a common issue in the autumn. Lance loved summer so much that he went into a strange kind of denial once fall began to settle in. It was like he thought he could stave off the cold through sheer force of will. So, despite the changing leaves and the occasional morning frost, Lance was still heading out in the exact same hoodie he sported all summer long. The only concession he gave to the dropping temperatures was wearing jeans instead of shorts.

They were still a few blocks from home when Shiro noticed the slight shiver in his boyfriend’s fingers. It prompted him to trail his thumb over the inside of Lance’s wrist. To tuck it under the cuff of his sweatshirt. Sure enough, the skin was cool to the touch and Lance reflexively pressed into the contact.

“You’re so stubborn,” he mumbled, dropping the handhold to take the shopping bag from Lance. “Here… gimme that. You stick your hands in your pockets.” 

Lance pouted, but he did it and Shiro unwound his own scarf, draping it around Lance’s slender neck. Then he tugged the hood over Lance’s head and pulled the drawstring playfully. 

“I’m not that cold,” Lance grumbled, his breath hanging in the air between them. “The breeze just shifted, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, “get over here.”

Honestly, even if it wasn’t completely futile to argue about dressing more warmly in the fall, Shiro probably wouldn’t. He liked when his scarves and hats smelled like Lance. He liked the way Lance would snuggle into his side for warmth as they walked, instead of swinging their linked hands as he chatted animatedly. He liked the weight of his head on Shiro’s shoulder, the damp warmth of his breath against Shiro’s skin. 

Wrapping his arm around Lance, Shiro tucked his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, which made his boyfriend laugh. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Aren’t you the one who says that there’s no such thing as too much cheese?” 

“I was talking about _pizza_ , Shiro. But it’s okay… I like that you’re cheesy.”

“That’s what I thought.” Grinning like the smitten fool he was, Shiro turned to press a kiss to the top of Lance’s head. The fabric of the hoodie smelled slightly of chlorine but that was a fragrance he associated with Lance anyway.

Lance tipped his head up, smiling softly at him, “I like everything about you. I didn’t even think that was _possible_ before I met you, but I do.”

“And you call _me_ cheesy,” Shiro teased softly, pretending his cheeks were turning pink from the chill in the air and not that tender smile.

“How are you so damn hot and still soooo bad at taking a compliment?” The words were muffled by Lance speaking _into_ the fabric of Shiro’s jacket, and he could feel the rolling pressure of Lance shaking his head against his shoulder. Still, the fondness in Lance’s voice shone through.

With all of the windows open, the apartment was no warmer than the streets had been, but at least the smoke smell had dissipated. Lance cleared space for them to work while Shiro traded his jacket for an oversized, cozy cardigan.

“I figured out what went wrong with the garlic knots,” Lance said when he returned to the kitchen. “This,” he pointed to one long, thin box, “is parchment paper… which is oven safe… and _that.._ is waxed paper… which is what you used, and is not oven safe. From the looks of it, you made the _food_ part just fine.”

“No... but… I was so sure… really, though?” Shaking his head, Shiro groaned, “I was so focused on not messing up the recipe that I didn’t read the box.”

“Babe, they both say _paper_. Simple mix-up. The important part is that you got the recipe right. That’s progress. And now I’m going to teach you how to make Dump Cake. Before you know it, you’ll be cooking all the time!”

Lance was such an optimist. He was an optimist and he had so much unwavering faith in Shiro. It was hard not to get caught up in it. “It’ll be nice to actually make something more substantial than breakfast cereal and sandwiches.”

“I can’t wait.” Rubbing the chill out of his arms, Lance nodded at the counter where he’d assembled an odd selection of items. “This is super simple, babe. I’m just going to walk you through it. It’ll all be you.”

“Are you _sure_ about this? We’ve already had to air the place out once!”

“Shiro!” he said sharply, laughter lacing his voice, “you are the Champion! Former Black Paladin, Pilot of the Atlas, record setting golden boy of the Garrison. You can make a Black Forest Dump Cake! You got this!”

“Alright, alright…” Squaring his shoulders, Shiro nodded, determined. “I got this. So, what do I do first?”

“First step is to promise to never speak of this to Hunk. He might cry, and I’ve vowed to kill anyone who makes Hunk cry, so that would be awkward and unfortunate.”

“Pretty sure I’ve made the same vow. So… no telling Hunk. I swear.”

“Good. I’ve already sprayed the pan with no stick stuff and opened the packages, so… start by dumping both those cans of pie filling into the pan. Use the rubber thing to scrape the goo out and then spread everything around so it’s mostly even.”

Skeptical, Shiro did as he was instructed, then dotted Lance’s nose with a bit of the red goo. The half-hearted grapple match that followed as Lance tried (and failed) to smear the sticky stuff on his face killed a little time and left them both breathless with laughter. 

It was ended by the shrill beeping of the oven alerting them that it was fully preheated. Lance stepped between him and the counter, wrapping Shiro’s cardigan around both of them and leaning back against him. His boyfriend was in great shape, but he was still slender and lean, so it wasn’t hard to work around his presence in Shiro’s arms- especially with his prosthetic.

The pie filling was topped with a splash of a liqueur from Arus that Lance loved to bake with. It was similar in flavor to rum and cherry coke. On its own it was oddly _medicinal_ tasting, but Shiro had to concede that it was surprisingly delicious in baked goods- especially chocolatey ones.

After that, he followed Lance’s instructions for shaking the boxed cake mix in a mostly smooth layer over the cherry stuff, followed by scattering chocolate chips liberally over it, then topping the whole thing with a stick and a half of butter cut into little slices Lance called ‘pats’.

That exhausted all of the ingredients that had been laid out, so he grabbed the rubber scraper thing and moved to stir the batter together, only to get scolded.

“Ah bip bip bip! Nope! Don’t touch it! I know it seems weird, but we just put this in the oven.”

“Just like that?” There was no way that was going to work!

“I’m telling you, Dump Cake is the easiest thing! When I was a kid, I was _sure_ it was magic! It goes in the oven just like that.” Shiro would have argued except Lance chose that moment to press a gentle kiss to his throat and smile against his skin. “Trust me.”

So, he put the pan in the oven and set the timer for an hour… because he trusted Lance.

He’d trusted him on his six in the field all those years ago. He’d trusted him when he’d been stranded in the astral plane, reaching out to him, first and always. He’d trusted him when they’d all mourned so much together. Trusted him with his fears and his worries and his growing dissatisfaction with military life. With his first, whispered, confession that he was thinking of retiring from active duty to become a flight instructor. 

His heart.

If Lance said to put it in the oven unstirred, he’d trust that, too.

And maybe… if the Dump Cake was as much of a success as Lance was sure it would be, Shiro would salvage his original plans for the evening and trust Lance with the ring that had been burning a hole in Shiro’s pocket for weeks now.


End file.
